Survival of the Fittest
by chayashix
Summary: A gift from the heart, from one guardian to another. Written for RivaMika Week 2.0 Day 2, February 2014. Prompt: The Gift – Mikasa's Birthday.


_Written for RivaMika Week Day 2.0, February 2014_  
_Prompt: The Gift – Mikasa's Birthday_  
_Plot unabashedly inspired by Final Fantasy XIII_

* * *

They said it was a special day, though she had never really understood why it was marked by the giving of trivial objects.

At least the dinner that Historia had prepared (with ingredients 'obtained' by Sasha) was something that everyone enjoyed. The new bridle and reins from Eren and Armin were, above all, practical – hers were just about to wear through. But the wildflowers from Jean would wilt in a few days, and she had no clue what to do with Connie's miniature carving of the Wings of Freedom.

Still, she appreciated their efforts; given the circumstances, they must have gone through a reasonable amount of trouble to put everything together.

Stepping into her room, she laid her new gear and the wooden effigy on her dresser, before dropping the pink blooms into the half-drunk mug of water next to... a white box?

A white box, which had not been there when she had left her room earlier that evening.

Mikasa peered at it for a while, puzzled by its mysterious presence and unremarkable exterior. Eventually lifting the lid, she frowned.

It was an object she was surprisingly well-acquainted with, having observed its diverse array of uses in the hands of – Captain Levi.

Scooping up the misplaced item, she opened the door and made her way quietly down the dark hall.

Her two stiff knocks were answered unusually quickly by his consent. Levi's impenetrable eyes confronted her from where he was seated on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. His jacket lay in a discarded heap by the side, along with the various buckles and belts that comprised their confining gear. One sleeve of his white shirt was rolled up casually; he paused in his ministrations with the other and arched his brow in expectation, as if it was normal for him to receive visitors at this late hour.

She held up the box as the only acknowledgement of her disturbance. "Someone must have left this in my room by mistake. I came to return it."

He gave no immediate reply, flipping and folding his right cuff in three contemplative motions.

Having restored his attire to balanced symmetry, he leaned back on his palms and nodded in the direction of her raised arm. "If it was in your room, it was not a mistake."

Her lips compressed into a tight line as she opened the box once more, and offered its contents to him stiffly. "Captain Levi. This is clearly _yours_."

The carefully impassive expression on his face shifted into a subtle glare.

"You didn't even take it out, did you."

Chucking the lid on the side table with an annoyed huff, Mikasa reached in and extracted the contentious article from its bed of ivory satin, fully intending to throw it at its rightful owner. But mid-swing, she stopped; something seemed off, slightly different, from her memories of that one mission when she had borrowed it.

Pulling back, she moved a little closer to the flickering candlelight, to examine it more carefully. In an instant, she understood why it felt odd: unlike its predecessor, this one was made from a single, solid piece of steel, cold and solemn in her hand. The grooves arcing fluidly across the handle were keen and fresh, rather than worn around the middle. Unsheathing the blade, she traced it with a thoughtful eye – equal in thickness, sturdy and tough; yet somewhat more slender in profile, gracefully curved and ending in a flourish at the tip. The finely ground metal hummed with precision, able to pierce through the toughest wood as easily as the delicate skin of the thumb that she ran along its edge.

It was beautiful.

Levi met her questioning glance with respect. "A survival knife."

"Yes, but... why?"

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee. "Because the strong can protect others, but only if they protect _themselves_ first."

Mikasa turned the exquisitely crafted weapon over again, feeling its strength between her fingers, and the weight of his words in her mind.

"It's too much. You should keep it, for yourself." She thrust the handle towards him for a third time, keeping her eyes focused on the toes of her boots.

Two footsteps brought him close enough for her to sense his ire, and she jumped when the heat of his palms made contact with her outstretched fist. Instead of snatching the knife away, though, he rotated it within her grasp, positioning the hilt just under her nose. "I'm not taking this piece of shit back."

She blinked, as the carving on its surface came into focus: a soaring falcon clutching a pair of swords, with the letters 'M.A.' emblazoned beneath its outstretched wings.

Slowly, her head dipped downwards, allowing her forehead to rest on the fiery brand nestled between their hands. The edges of her hair tickled his wrists as he listened to her deepening breaths; he relaxed his grip, but only one arm managed to escape as she trapped the other with her fingers, and squeezed.

Levi sighed, and lifted his free hand to tuck the troublesome strands behind her flushed ear.

"Happy Birthday, Mikasa."


End file.
